


I might be lost, I might be broken.

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Deserves Happiness, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, POV Connor, emotions are hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-28 11:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15047588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Freed from the programming that shackled him and the android revolution seemingly changing everything, Connor starts the long road to figuring out his place in this new world.Set in the best ending version.





	1. safety.

**Author's Note:**

> Written because if the game isn't going to give me a depiction of Connor dealing with the whole can of worms that was his best ending, damn it, I'm writing it myself. Tags and ratings may change accordingly as the story goes on.

He didn't belong here.

As the dust settled and what was nothing short of a celebration had begun, Connor didn’t feel like much of the fellow hero he suddenly found himself being considered. The buzzing in his head had stopped the second he found the exit, but he could still feel the weight of the gun he’d been clutching a few moments before, when his arm had begun to lift without his input. He’d realized he’d been played a fool already, but he had no idea just how much of a puppet he’d been until now. All that time and if Amanda’s taunting was true, they'd practically had _always_ been prepared for the eventuality of his deviancy. He seemed to have finally broken free of it all, but -

He glanced down at his hand, flexing it a little, as if testing to make sure it was under his control again. It was, though a strange feeling – a tension in his chest that was making it a little hard to breathe – had settled, the ring of light in his forehead blinking a nervous sort of yellow. Perhaps, he thought, he should not only duck out as he planned, but not even say goodbye. His work was done here, after all, so surely -

Before he could complete the plan he was already hatching, he was startled out of it when he felt a hand clap down on his shoulder. He glanced up from his hand to see Markus standing before him. When they had first met, his face had seem so drawn, so worried. It was in stark contrast now to the far happier, far more at peace man standing in front of him.

“You did excellent, my friend,” he praised. The simple statement instantly flared up a whole lot of complicated feelings inside of him. It was just another moment that he was struck at how little he knew how to process it all, especially as everything around them started to slow down enough that he had time to recognize them. “I hope you plan on staying among us now. We need capable people like you in the coming weeks and months, and I’d love to bring you in as one of the louder voices among us.”

It was an honor and he knew it. Connor also was keenly aware he could never take it, for so many reasons, especially after what just happened. “Ah, yes. My apologies, but I think I’m meant to be somewhere else for now. I did want to thank you again for putting your trust in me. I realize it was a risk that you didn’t have to take.”

More of a risk than Connor had even been aware of, apparently. He considered mentioning what had happened on the stage, but he didn’t have to do any kind of advanced calculations to guess the probability of being killed on the spot was higher than he was comfortable with. From what Connor ascertained so far, Markus was not quick to violence, but he was also a true, recognized leader now, surrounded by people who would do anything to protect him. He doubted any of them would have much trouble putting down someone who had programming in his head that nearly made him do something unforgivable.

Yes, it was easier to simply turn him down. For everyone’s sakes.

For his part, Markus seemed to wave off the thank you and simply smiled at him. “I admit I'm a bit disappointed, but I understand. You’re one of us, as I said, I hope you remember that, Connor. Consider the offer always open. I hope we meet again soon.”

Connor knew they weren’t simply empty words. Despite everything, one of the things he’d been wrestling with was what he knew was a intense amount of guilt since Jericho, especially now that he could see exactly the kind of people he'd brought hell down upon. For all the people that were there with them now, he knew there could’ve been quite a bit more if not for him. Anyone else would've at least turned away now that his mission was over, but Markus wasn't like that and they followed his example. Of course Amanda's last attempt was to force him to kill such a positive force.

Perhaps sensing his need to be alone, Markus simply squeezed his shoulder in a companionable sort of way as a goodbye before drifting to the next person who wanted to speak to him. Connor watched him for a long moment before deciding it was time to start the long trek toward the edge of what felt like a sea of people around him. Every so often, someone would stop to chat or hug him, which in itself became a bit overwhelming, too – he had been having trouble dealing with his blossoming emotional center when the walls all around him were filtering out most of them. Now it was a bit like getting gut punched unexpectedly, over and over, as his programming worked overtime to put concepts to each burst as they came to him. It was ironically, really: one of the things he'd been programmed to do was to be able to gauge people in real time, but now he was reading himself, and he was doing a spectacularly terrible job at it.

They were pleasant punches, at least, for what it was worth. Still, it was a relief to get out of the masses, and it was easy enough to evade any sort of obstacle to start the long walk to where he needed to be. He had an appointment, after all.

Detroit was silent the farther he got from the main area. The air still felt charged, and from the shadows he was sticking to, he could see they were beginning to deal with the dead that lay scattered all over the streets. The rough treatment seemed to be gone, replaced by quiet, grim-faced soldiers who were carefully covering the bodies of the dead so that they simply weren’t unceremoniously sprawled out on the ground. It was a change already from how he knew how things usually were, as much as it all was somber to witness.

He continued onward. The snow started to eventually slow, then stopped altogether, the clouds above clearing just in time for the sunrise. Things were completely silent by the time he neared his destination, nearly entirely removed from the center of all the action. The Chicken Feed truck was, after all, situated in an area that very specifically out of the way from most things for…obvious reasons, as Connor had found out during their first visit. He stopped sneaking, the lack of any real action leading him to believe he would be relatively safe out in the open.

It made for a pleasant walk, all things considered. It was certainly a distraction from the anxiety that he was suddenly feeling again (which at this point, was at least _one_ emotion he was getting a pretty good handle on spotting). He had promised Hank he’d come find him after all was said and done and where they could meet, but that didn’t necessarily mean Hank was going to be there. After everything that happened, after everything he had been put through because he’d been assigned as his partner through no fault of his own, the logical part of Connor knew he couldn't blame him if he chose to wash his hands of it all. There was no obligation there anymore, and honestly, his life would be much simpler, especially now that he’d practically become one of the faces of the revolution. In fact, Connor knew he probably _should_ be hoping Hank figured that out and decided to leave him behind, so things like what had happened the night before never happened again.

He couldn't bring himself to feel that way, though. Selfish as he knew it was, there was no denying the quiet terror he was feeling, the uncertainty of what he would even do if he wasn't there and he was desperately trying to get a handle on himself as he rounded the last corner in case he was met with disappointment. Even from afar, he could see a familiar, solitary figure standing in front of the closed-up food truck, arms crossed against his chest. The vice grip he'd been feeling in his chest lessened.

There was no hesitation in his step then to push forward, toward the figure, his shoes crunching in the freshly fallen snow. It was surely the sound that alerted Hank to his presence. He turned to face him, and before any other doubts might have been able to creep in, he saw the older man break out into a small, genuine smile.

It took Connor a moment to realize he was smiling too, entirely involuntarily.

Hank took the first steps forward toward him then. and Connor opened his mouth to speak. The sudden and unexpected grab his partner made to pull him to him promptly cut off anything he could've said. Instant, startled confusion as to what he was doing gave way to realization as Hank’s arms wrapped around him in a tight hug.

“Jesus, don’t scare me like that again, kid,” Hank stated in a rough sounding voice, partially muffled by the embrace. “I’m too old for this shit.”

Distantly, as relief flooded Connor and he awkwardly (but firmly) returned the sentiment, he realized exactly why humans seemed to enjoy giving each other these. For the first time since he shattered the programming that had him bound, he found himself feeling a new emotion, one that sent his currently yellow ring on his temple back to blue.

Safety.


	2. grief.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When pushed to explain the whole story, the breakdown was inevitable.
> 
> Hank does his best to help his partner start to learn how to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some general warnings - if you couldn't tell from the first chapter - of illusions to panic attacks. Otherwise, thanks for reading. :)

Connor wished he had his coin.

 

Sumo was an excellent replacement to keep his hands busy, however. Sitting in Hank’s living room, he patiently waited for the Lieutenant to get off the phone he was currently yelling into. Apparently he was expected to be in to work, but he wasn’t having it. Connor idly pet the big dog’s head, which was currently situated directly on his lap as he listened.

 

He didn’t think he’d ever see the inside of that police department again. It was a thought that struck him in a way he wasn’t ready for, and that vice grip feeling in his chest flared again. Sumo, as if sensing something was amiss, gently bumped his head into the hand that had paused in its petting. He smiled at the dog, feeling like his mere presence was steadying.

 

There’d be a day he’d have to pick a side. The words had been floating in his head since they’d been said to him, as much as he hated how much he’d gotten under his skin. After everything was said and done, he realized the statement had been wrong. There were no sides for Connor, not really. He wasn't accepted by the humans (and who _knew_ when that would change, if it ever actually did) and he wasn't part of the androids he'd been chasing until last night, either. Amanda had seen to the latter never being a real choice for him, even if it seemed he’d foiled the rest of her plans.

 

So where did that leave him? The lack of direction felt like a deafening silence to him, and it only made him feel worse.

 

In stark contrast to that silence was Hank, who was somehow getting louder. Connor shifted his attention to the argument at hand nearby, and he could hear his former partner say another couple of choice words before the telltale sound of what was likely a phone being thrown into the wall sharply rang out. The door to his bedroom banged open not long after as he stomped out to join the two of them.

 

“If they think I’m going in there after that bullshit last night, they can kiss my ass,” he said, sitting himself roughly into the chair.  He looked a lot like he wanted to throw something else, but he was containing himself.

 

“Perhaps you should go in, Lieutenant,” he suggested, gently. “I’m sure you’re needed.”

 

Hank looked entirely unimpressed at the suggestion.

 

“No, what they want is to grill me some more. They’re pissed they couldn’t question me longer yesterday and I’m not in the mood. Your clone was an asshole, but I guess he at least did me one favor and gave me a reason to leave,” he griped. He paused then, looking at Connor strangely, and he realized his LED was flickering yellow again. There’d been near no control over it since he’d deviated, which was...problematic “Eh, sorry, that’s probably a sore subject.”

 

If he was being honest, Connor hadn’t even begun to unpack how he felt about the other RK800. There was something to be said about seeing the worst version of himself made real. That he also watched Hank kill it was…something else he wasn’t entirely sure how to process. “No, it’s – I don’t know.“

 

The answer was as honest as he could be, because nothing about what had happened had a simple reaction associated with it. It was hard not to be frustrated with himself just then and it probably was written all over his face with the way Hank was staring at him. It vaguely reminded him of the way he’d been looking at him when he was asking him about not shooting the girl – appropriately, he’d been at a loss at what was happening to him then, too. He could hear Hank exhale a slow breath as he seemed to decide something.

 

“Look, I’m not going to pretend what’s going on right now and I’m probably the last person that’d be helpful with it anyway,” he admitted, sounding vaguely uncomfortable already. “So you need to help me out, here. I’m no mind reader. Give me something to work with and don’t insult me by saying nothing is wrong, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen that blinking light on your head stay yellow that long. This is literally the one time I was waiting for you to talk my ear off and you have barely said a damn word.”

 

He knew Hank was right, but there’d been a reason for it - he very much didn’t know where to start. How did you condense everything changing in an instant and what that felt like into words? How could he even describe what he’d been through? After grappling with that question, he eventually realized the simplest way he knew how to do this.

 

He started reciting something akin to a report on his activities to his superior.

 

“…The ruse we put on allowed me time to gather the final information on the location of the deviants – an abandoned docked ship, as it turned out,” he explained, not entirely knowing how much Hank had been briefed about what happened. “I was tasked with bringing Markus in alive, so I went undercover to accomplish my mission. What I didn’t expect was to be swayed by his cause when I met him. Though every part of my programming was telling me to not listen, I…couldn’t. I couldn’t follow my orders.”

 

Hank did not need to have it spelled out what the implications of what he was inferring to, he could see it written all over his face. “So you…“

 

Connor was very pointedly looking down at Sumo as he replied. “…Yes. I defied my programming and became deviant, just as Kamski posited I would when we spoke to him. This decision was unfortunately not made before I had informed the authorities of everything, of course, essentially bringing down the one safe area these people had. By the time we had escaped, the destruction that was left because of me was enormous, and the casualties will likely to never be known fully. There were certainly enough that I spent much of my escape stepping over the bodies of people that were gunned down in what could only be called a mass execution. Because of me.”

 

Hank seemed to sense, perhaps by his tone, that things were starting to go downhill emotionally for him. He attempted to interject with a quick, “Kid –“

 

Connor ignored him, continuing. “The only thing I could offer, really, what was essentially a suicide mission, which Markus agreed to allow me to undertake. I thought I carefully went over every scenario that could properly crop up, and the worst case was me ceasing to function. A risk worth taking, I thought. Of course, it ended up being a trap, and I ended up being very wrong about the worst case scenario. As you well know, you ended up getting involved, as well, and I don’t imagine I need to go over I then had to watch someone with my own face about to kill you if I provoked him even remotely -“

 

“ _Connor!_ “

 

It was as though he couldn’t stop everything from spilling out from him now that he started. He didn’t need to see his temple to know it was blipping red as he went deeper and deeper into his own head. It felt a whole lot like there was a weight on his chest that he couldn’t see or lift that was just crushing him. The punch came out of nowhere, hitting him solidly on the cheek. He recoiled instantly, more stunned than hurt, and he turned his head sharply to look at the older man. Instead of angry, which Connor was expecting, Hank just looked deeply worried. Confusion replaced the spiral he was going down, at least for the moment.

 

“Christ, you need to calm the hell down and _listen_  to me for a second,” he asserted, looking him right in the eye. He had Connor's undivided attention “Blaming yourself for everything under the sun has done jack shit for me and it’s not going to do anything for you, either. For someone who said as much to me last night to me, you sure as hell are quick to not take your own advice. You may have led them to that boat, but you also freed what was an army’s worth of androids that would’ve been destroyed otherwise. That's not something you get to conveniently ignore.”

 

Connor opened his mouth to speak but silenced when Hank motioned for him to stop.

 

“And speaking of that? You know, I realized I’d nearly forgotten what you were like when we first met until I was around your clone. It was a pretty good reminder of how far you’d come. Any idiot could recite facts like he was doing to me,” he pointed out, now looking irritated - and not towards Connor, as it turned out. “Which is all the more reason I should’ve seen it for what it was and not had to wait until you two were side by side to spot the difference. That gun to my head wasn’t because of you, it’s because I’m the shitty partner who couldn't see what was happening right in front of me. What does that say about me?”

 

Connor had initially been stubbornly intent on wallowing, because everything felt _terrible_ in that moment, but the more Hank talked, the more he listened. It was hard to argue when he was making solid points, even though a part of him still wanted to say something anyway - especially about the other RK800, who was made to be very good at lying to gain trust.  He let it go. What mattered was his words were enough that the crushing feeling lessened as it sunk in. There was some stability when there had been almost none a few moments ago, even though he wasn’t entirely ready to agree. His shoulders eventually slumped, as if showing he was going to listen and try to calm down.

 

“I'm glad I was assigned to you,” he reassured quietly, and though he still sounded vulnerable, he sounded far less in a frenzied, anguished panic now. "...Lieutenant, I don’t know what to do anymore."

 

At that, Hank huffed out a bitter sounding laugh.

 

"Join the club. Fuck if I know what comes next, either. All of this is way over my head and my paygrade,” Hank muttered, running a hand through his hair. All at once he looked properly exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept at all and it finally caught up with him. He probably hadn’t, given the time frame. “...But we’ll figure it out. You just need to trust me.”

 

“We?” he repeated, not even bothering to hide the hopeful expression that immediately sprung up.

 

“Yes, we. Unless you have someplace else to be that I don't know about,” he prodded, raising an eyebrow. Connor shook his head immediately. “Alright, that’s what I thought. This place isn’t big but I’m not kicking you out on the streets to fend for yourself when you have nowhere to go. You'll stay with me until this is all figured out.”

 

That perked Connor up a little. Where to go had been very much up in the air until now, and it certainly was one of many things weighing on his mind. The offer was more than he’d been hoping for. “In that case, I look forward to our continued partnership."

 

Hank stared at him for a long moment as though he'd grown two heads. He hesitated, seeming to consider saying something, but eventually seemed to opt against it. Instead, he got up and headed toward his bedroom, stating, over his shoulder, “I’m going to sleep. Don’t wake me up.”

 

Connor was quick to come up with some specific potentially worth waking him up scenarios to bring up to him ( _many_ of which involving unintended fires due to the numerous hazards he could spot just from the couch), but the door slammed shut behind him before he could get the first one out.

 

For once, he took the hint. 


	3. anger.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor causes some amount of chaos.

Connor had every intention of allowing Hank to sleep. Idleness was not something he was used to, but he filled the time by caring for Sumo (who had alerted him to his lack of food and water when desperation was sinking in for the poor dog), and then, when that was done, he decided to tackle the mess surrounding him. He was aware the Lieutenant could get angry if he moved too many things, so he was in the middle of carefully picking up only what was obviously garbage. It was the dog that noticed something amiss outside first.

 

Police lights.

 

He put the trash bag to the side before carefully moving to the window Sumo was looking out of, peeking outside through the blinds. There was only one car, but he could see Detective Reed stepping out of it and that was all he needed to see for his his stomach twist in knots. There would be no mercy from someone like Reed and he knew it. All plans of respecting Hank’s wishes went out the window; he slid away from the window and barged into his room without hesitation. As expected, he was still asleep, if his loud snoring was any indication.

 

“Lieutenant Anderson!” he exclaimed. From the other room, he could hear the first loud knocking on the door. When that did nothing to rouse him, he took to shaking him roughly instead. “Hank, wake up!”

 

That was enough. He startled awake, disoriented. When he realized who was standing above him shaking him, he smacked his hand away, still bleary eyed. “Wha – what?! What? Connor? The hell are -”

 

Connor had no time to give him a moment to wake up. “They’ve sent Detective Reed.”

 

As I turned out, that was _exactly_ what he needed to say to completely wake his partner up. “ _Reed_? Fuck. _Shit_.”

 

Reed was ringing the doorbell now.

 

“I don’t believe he’s going to be deterred by your not answering,” Connor pointed out worriedly, likely stating the obvious. In fact, if his ringing was any indication, Reed was only getting more insistent. Grabbing pants and pulling them on over the boxers he’d been sleeping in, he turned and gave Connor a serious look.

 

“Don’t come out of this room for any reason. Understand?” he asked. Connor hesitated at the command, not liking the idea of leaving him without any kind of backup. “I mean it, Connor. I’ll find a way to get rid of him, so I need you to trust me. You trust me, right?”

 

It was a question that needed no hesitation to think about. “Yes, I do.”

 

There was a moment he swore he could see Hank’s expression soften. It was gone in a near instant as the doorbell rang again. “Good. Right. I’ll be back.”

 

And he was gone, closing the door behind him. Connor stood near the wall next to the door, straining to hear anything. What he caught was bits and pieces of a conversation that started at a high volume and never lowered. The bits he gathered was he was there looking for Connor, and Hank spent the entire time insisting he hadn’t seen him since the night before.

 

He seemed to be keeping Reed at bay until he heard him demand to be allowed to _check_ if he was lying about Connor not being there.

 

Hank’s voice was very distinct, his tone dangerous. “You want to look around? Show me a damn warrant or get your ass out of my house.”

 

The sound of footsteps, a scuffle, and a nearby door opening – the bathroom, maybe? – was indication of how well he was listening. Connor stepped away immediately, knowing it was only a matter of time before he came in. The bed was impossible to hide under, the window would take too long to open, so he had only one choice in the end.

 

Slipping in behind his clothes in his closet, he closed the sliding door just in time as the door slammed open. Vaguely worried the blinking of his yellow LED could be seen, he turned his head to have it facing the wall. It didn’t remain dark for long as he flipped on the switch. Connor froze, afraid that even a slight motion would make enough noise to alert him. Reed stepped into the room enough he was practically standing in front of him.

 

“What did I fucking tell you? He’s. Not. Here,” he heard Hank insist, sounding irate by then. He could see his partner now, too, through the slits of his closet’s door. He was very purposely standing in a way that forced Reed to keep his back turned from the closet and Connor knew he guessed exactly where he was hiding. “Now get out before I throw you out.”

 

Reed stepped closer to him, and even from behind, Connor could tell he was menacing him, getting in his face.

 

“Don’t think for a second I don’t know you’re lying through your teeth right now, old man,” he said, dripping with the usual malice he seemed to reserve for the two of them. “…But fine, protect your machine. I look forward to you slipping up because trust me, I’ll be there when it happens. No one will miss such a stain on this department.”

 

Reed shoved him away then, hard enough that Hank stumbled back.

 

“You’re pathetic,” Reed scoffed, starting to leave.

 

Connor felt a white-hot rage surge through him, overriding all sense of self-preservation. It had been one thing that Reed spent _every moment_ around him treating him like garbage, but it was entirely another seeing him do something to Hank. He unconsciously started reaching to open the door to step out and defend him, Hank did something unexpected.

 

He stepped forward and decked him so hard it sent the detective sprawling on the carpet of his room. Reed stared up at him, holding his face in shock, as he loomed over him. It was about as intimidating as he’d ever seen his partner before, and he’d pointed a gun at him once.

 

“The thing about you, Reed? I might be pathetic, but at least I'm not a coward that’s too used to picking on people who can’t fight back like you are.  You’re all bark and no bite and every single person in the department knows you’re a joke,” Hank glowered, sneering. “Now I won’t say it again. Get up and get out of my house now and I won’t report to the Captain how much you’re out of line being here. You have the ride back to the department to decide what you’re going to tell him when he asks where you got that bloody lip.”

 

He stepped back then, letting Reed get up. There was a stand-off once he was up, which Hank didn’t flinch from. Reed would be the one who caved first, though thoroughly furious.

 

“This isn’t over, Anderson.”

 

And with that warning he stalked out. Hank followed him, and Connor remained where he was, not wanting to reveal himself until the coast was clear. There was some more noise, and then the sound of the front door opening and closing. Silence followed until Hank returned a few minutes later. He looked around for a moment before announcing, “You can come out.”

 

It was the all clear signal he was waiting for. Connor carefully eased the sliding door open and came out from behind the hanging clothing. His partner still was on edge and irritated, but that seemed to lessen once he saw him there and not hurt.

 

“I must say, Lieutenant, I did take a certain amount of pleasure seeing you hit Reed,” Connor admitted, sounding a little perturbed. “Is that…wrong?”

 

Hank let out a surprised sounding laugh, the tension still hanging in the air finally entirely dissolving.

 

“Sounds like a perfect response, actually. I’ve been wanting to do that for at least a year,” he mused, looking mildly pleased with himself. Still, for all the bravado he was showing winning that face-off, Connor could see him favoring his hand a bit. He didn’t hesitate to scan it.

 

There were no fractures – what he was worried about- but he could already see his knuckles were bruising.  It wasn’t something he pointed out, though as they passed by the bathroom, he went in instead. Hank didn’t seem to notice at first, though he likely heard him rummaging through what medicine he had on him.

 

“Do I want to ask?” he inquired, just as Connor found what he was looking for.

 

“I already knew better than to ask if you have a first aid kit. I’m improvising,” he explained, holding out the two painkillers he’d taken out of the bottle he found. “I will make a makeshift ice pack in a moment. I will warn you, however, it is not recommended you drink after taking those.”

 

A look crossed Hank’s face when he mentioned alcohol that Connor couldn’t quite identify. He took the two pills without a fight. “I wasn’t going to anyway.”

 

That was a surprise. Connor certainly didn’t say that out loud – it’d be rude – and he certainly wasn’t going to complain either. He simply went on to make a makeshift ice bag as Hank took the medicine and sat down at the table. It was easy enough to put something together as he sat beside him.

 

“Here,” he said, placing it gently on his hand.

 

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” he grumbled but eventually went along with it anyway, holding it where it was placed. He heaved a sigh and sat back, appropriately nursing the injury. “I doubt he’ll be back for a while. Fucking upstart, I knew something was off.”

 

Connor cocked his head. “Oh?”

 

“He was trying to get brownie points by bringing you in. I don’t even think he _knows_ if anyone is looking for you right now,” he explained, which was admittedly a relief to hear. “I’m going to have to feel things out tomorrow at the station to see what the actual stance on you is. Fowler can be an asshole, but I’ve known him long enough to know unless he’s been ordered, he’s going to let you sneaking into the archives slide. If anything, I’ll just take the heat for it.”

 

It was the second time Connor it’d been made clear Hank was in trouble because of him. He didn’t like it. “I’ll go with you tomorrow. It isn’t right that you’re going to be reprimanded for something that was my idea.”

 

Hank waved him off. “Kid, you have stuff left to lose. I’ve been toeing this wire for long enough that whatever happens was probably going to happen anyway. Besides, getting kicked off the force for helping what happened last night is always going to be a better end to my career than where I was heading.”

 

“You’re a good cop though, Lieutenant. You have numerous hang-ups, sure, but I would not be where I am right now had I been put with anyone else. I’m sure of that,” he said, clearly unwilling to let it go. Hank seemed to consider saying something, but ultimately just glanced away.

 

“You’re still not going in with me. We’re going to be doing the opposite, in fact. You need to start looking less like you just walked off a factory showcase,” he pointed out, motioning to his outfit. “I have some clothes from my younger years in boxes somewhere. We’ll find you something for you to put on for now.”

 

He’d been thinking about that, honestly – the idea of blending in again, like he’d done when he went under cover. There was something beyond just clothes that he’d need to deal with, though. It was Connor’s turn to hesitate, though he ultimately steeled himself. This had to be done. “I’d like to ask a favor that’s related to that, too.”

 

“Favor?”

 

Connor lifted a hand to touch the blinking light. It’d nearly been a hinderance when he was hiding and honestly, it felt like the step he needed to take to finally start working on disconnecting himself from what he used to be. A sign of actual defiance. He also was well aware he wouldn’t be able to get the nerve up to do it alone.

 

“…I’m going to need you to help me take this off.”


	4. nostalgia.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With assistance, Connor takes steps he never expected he'd ever be taking.

The idea of popping the blinking ring of light out was in no way new to either of them. There was a time Connor had looked upon it in derision, the mere idea of deviancy an affront to everything. He knew those weren’t really his thoughts now, that the feelings were manufactured to make him a better machine, but –

 

Still.

 

Even Hank seemed equal parts surprised and unsure the second it left his mouth. He thought perhaps he was taking a step too far for someone who was likely reeling with the rest of the world over the new place they were all occupying. With a small stretch of silence, his worry got the better of him.

 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he clarified, hoping to allay that concern if it was there. “I’m aware they haven’t changed the laws yet, so getting involved may once again cause you issues if it’s noticed. I can wait too, for when I’m not currently staying at your home.”

 

Hank looked confused at him walking back the ask so quickly. “No, that’s – shit, that’s it. Keep it, take it out, I really don’t care. Hell, after the shit CyberLife put me through, and all the stuff I know they put you through, it’d be nice to watch you give them the finger by taking it out. I’m just worried about hurting you if I help you. I’ve never dug one of those things out of someone before.”

 

Connor, in that moment, realized he’d wildly misread things. Still, it’d be a lie if he hadn’t enjoyed hearing that little affirmation he was in his corner with all of this. His head dipped, he found himself smiling. “Ah! Well, it’s fairly simple, and once it’s out, I can heal over the area like it’s never there. It’s why the deviants we were chasing showed no signs of any indentation. I could probably do it alone, and as much as I know I want to do this, it’s still –“

 

“- A change. Yeah, I get it,” Hank finished, and Connor nodded mutely. He put aside the already melting makeshift ice pack he’d been given, turning his chair to face him. “You want to do this right now?”

 

He hadn’t quite made plans beyond asking for help and now he was receiving it. Connor thought about putting it off, but he recognized that was the same part of him that he knew was going to stop him from doing this unless he had someone pushing him. After a moment, he turned his chair, too.

 

“You just need to find something you can use to press into it. Once there’s enough pressure, it should easily be able to be taken out,” he instructed, making the motion as he explained so Hank could see what he meant. “A knife or scissors would probably work.”

 

Hank got up once he was told what he needed. It didn’t take long to find a decent knife, which he heard him washing first, despite having found it in a drawer. Connor appreciated the attempt at sterilization, even if it really wasn’t needed.

 

“Alright,” he said, knife in hand. He seemed to consider his possibilities before drawing closer. “You sure you’re good with this?”

 

Connor nodded wordlessly. His partner paused long enough to decide how he wanted to attack this, and ultimately reached out and gently guided his head so his neck was craned slightly to the side. Connor didn’t put up any sort of fight, allowing Hank to move him to where he needed him to be.

 

“Just press in and flick it out?” he repeated, making sure he had the instructions right.

 

“The area around it will change color as it happens, so don’t be alarmed when it happens. It’s normal and it means you’re doing it right,” Connor said, calmly and matter-of-factly, which was in direct opposition to the fact he was actually trembling a little. Hank very much noticed it if his shift in expression said anything, but he didn’t comment. Instead, as he readied himself, he started to talk.

 

“You know, my kid, Cole, I had to do something like this once. Not pull out a light out of his head, obviously, but -” he began to explain, studying the LED, which was now very much blinking yellow, closely before even beginning to try anything. Connor was hyper aware of all of it, but the distraction of his partner suddenly talking about his son was drawing his attention away from what was happening. “He’d ended up accidentally falling into a…shit, I don’t even remember what kind of plant it was. Poked him full of little thorns, though, a lot of them wedged in deep, and he of course came crying over to me for help. I spent half that morning pulling them out.”

 

He paused as he lined up the knife tip carefully. Connor remained silent, trying to stay still.

 

“I couldn’t work fast enough. I barely knew what I was doing then, either, but sometimes you just need to make shit up as you go along,” he continued. It was at that moment Connor felt the knife press in, then, and he grimaced a little as he felt it. It wasn’t pain, exactly, but it didn’t feel right. A few moments later and a feeling of something being pulled from him. The little circle of light landed on the table beside them, and Connor realized it was already finished. Hank let go then and stepped back. “…Huh, at least that took less time. You alright?”

 

The indent was still there, and he was sure that was what Hank was staring at. It didn’t take him long to make it heal over. Connor touched the spot gingerly after, as if he needed to prove to himself it was gone, even if he could see it from where he was sitting.

 

“No lasting damage, as expected. Thank you, Lieutenant,” he replied, earnest. After a pause – because honestly, Connor felt as though he’d been thrown a grenade and he wasn’t entirely sure if it were primed to explode - he added, “I appreciated the story.”

 

Hank sighed, though he didn’t seem entirely surprised at him bringing it up.

 

“…It was nothing. Figured listening to something I knew you couldn’t just pull up in my record would be enough to distract you while I was digging into your head. Last thing I needed was for you to accidentally move,” he replied, already trying to brush it off. The thing was, it was a subject he practically shut down about previously, so Connor knew it was a big deal, no matter how much he attempted to pass it off as otherwise.

 

He knew he had two options in front of him: push him to keep talking or leave it. He’d gotten to know Hank enough by now to know the former would only upset him. He’d take what he was given.

 

“You were right, it helped,” Connor confirmed simply, picking up the now dormant LED that had been pulled out of him. There’d been no plan beyond getting it out. A part of him wanted to keep it, another part wanted to smash it.

 

“…Got a hammer somewhere if you need it,” Hank mentioned with a pointed look at what he was holding. He drifted toward his bedroom after, likely giving him some space and perhaps going to get the box he mentioned. If anything, what Hank had just said was confirmation of what decision his partner would be making right now in his shoes. It was good to know.

 

The suggestion was…tempting. But it was a decision that could ultimately wait, so he simply placed it to the side so he could mull it over. He got up then, leaning down to pat Sumo on the head as he passed him by. The dog leaned into the affectionate gesture.

 

He made a short stop in the bathroom first. His reflection felt strangely foreign, as though it were really the first time he studied himself and not just to make sure he was neat and orderly and in the exact condition expected of him. He certainly wasn’t in that condition right now, after all he’d been through, and he did nothing to correct it as he left to go to the next room.

 

He headed inside just in time to hear Hank swearing and struggling with pulling out a box that clearly hadn’t been unearthed for ages. He pulled it out and placed it onto the ground before Connor could reach him to help. Close to it now, he could see a thick layer of dust had settled on the yellowing cardboard that the box was made of.

 

“Gonna probably need to get this stuff cleaned,” Hank admitted. The level of dust was enough for Connor to give an estimate that it’d been at least two years since he’d touched the thing – probably when he’d placed it where it was to begin with. It was probably a good guess, all things considered.

 

Curious, Connor kneeled in front of it. Opening the box up was a bit like opening a time capsule of a moment in Hank’s life. Having not only seen but hid among his partner’s current wardrobe, the box filled with neatly pressed – if a little stale smelling – clothing that was absolutely nothing like how he presented himself now.

 

“They’re probably going to still be a bit big on you,” Hank pointed out after eying Connor with an appraising look. “They made you on the scrawny side.”

 

Connor considered rehashing the exact reasons behind the choices made in his creation, but he’d already been over much of it with Hank (who had very little interest back then), and he suspected the comment was simply him teasing him in his own way. Hank left him to the box then, disappearing into the hallway.

 

There was quite a bit in it. He pulled out what looked like one of Hank’s dress shirts for work, once upon a time, inspecting it. It seemed too formal for what he was trying to pull off (which was a sentiment he hadn’t imagined he’d _ever_ think about anything Hank wore, if he was being honest), so he set it aside and reached in deeper to find what was closer to casual clothes instead. The sweatshirt he’d eventually find – one emblazoned with the Detroit Gears logo - was on the larger end of the spectrum in this box, but it had a hood and it was just nondescript enough for his purposes. Coupled with a belt and a pair of jeans, he put together what could easily replace the outfit he was currently wearing.

 

It didn’t take long to shed what felt like the last grip the company had on him. Though this new outfit was at least a size or two larger than he needed, he found even that was a novelty when all he ever really wore was things entirely manufactured for him. He rolled up the sleeves and started collecting the things he’d taken out to neatly place back into the box. He was about to put it back in when he noticed what looked like some folded pieces of paper tucked away off to the side. Tilting his head, he put aside the clothes and pulled them out instead. Much like the cardboard box, which had seen some sort of damage, the ends of the pages were yellowed with age.

 

Putting aside the clothes he’d been putting away, he carefully opened the loose papers to find them all to be drawings. They were simple ones, drawn by a young hand, and he quickly realized exactly what he was looking at, especially when one picture clearly depicted a child and a crude drawing of a person in a police uniform. Glancing at the door, he distantly wondered if Hank even remembered these were in here. It didn’t seem likely – he would’ve taken them out before handing over the box otherwise.

 

The one thing that he’d been already learning was the nuances of feelings. Had it been before, there was no question he’d go out and show him what he found, because it only seemed logical that someone would be happy to see pictures they forgot they had. Now, though, something inside tugged at him that made him feel like it might not be well received, at least not now.

 

He folded the papers the way they were and gently tucked them back in and then the rest of the clothes on top of them, making a mental note to locate the best way to preserve what was already beginning to be damaged later. Once everything was put in its place, he headed out of the room and over to see what Hank was doing.

 

In the time it took to get into his new clothes, Hank had warmed up some food and had sat himself down in front of the television. A basketball game was playing, likely one he’d recorded for future watching. As he approached, he turned to see him approaching.

 

“Well, shit,” Hank stated, looking him over approvingly. “You don’t look like you have a stick shoved up your ass anymore.”

 

It would've been an insult from anyone else, but Connor knew him well enough to recognize the compliment there.

 

“It’s certainly more comfortable,” he allowed, carefully stepping over Sumo as he claimed a seat besides the Lieutenant, who shifted over to give him room. Attention turned to what was playing, Connor immediately identified which one he was watching, and with that knowledge came the final score. He knew better after last time to blurt it out.

 

“Oh! I heard this was an excellent game,” he settled on, showing enthusiasm so he didn’t know that they would eventually lose to a very small margin, in what would surely be a disappointing way.

 

“Uh-huh,” Hank grunted, looking at him suspiciously. Connor continued to remain straight faced until Hank sat back again. “…You know who won, didn’t you?”

 

Connor gave him a pointed look then, offering a simple warning. “Hank, you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want answered.”

 

Hank got the hint and stopped asking. Connor settled back then, making it a point to not pull up the play by play so he could enjoy when the tides would eventually turn.  The game was far more interesting than reading the ruleset of how to play led it to be.


End file.
